cut off
“You should get bangs!” I said to myself because there was no one else around to tell...or stop me. Living alone during quarantine was getting dangerous. Wandering around the house talking to myself in between murder documentaries and cans of Pringles was taking its toll…for some reason. I had to make a change. I had to reinvent myself, if not just to feel like there was someone new in my house. We’ve done all sorts of things to protect ourselves from covid, but nothing to guard against the epidemic of not having friends around to stop you from making bad life decisions.
When I was a kid I cut my own hair many times. It never turned out great but a glam squad was not in the budget. When I was 5 I cut my entire fountain ponytail off with kid-safe scissors and hid it behind my dresser. Always get rid of the evidence! (I told you the murder documentaries were getting to me.) My sister walked in and saw my freshly sheered stump and out of what I assume was pure jealously ratted me out to our parents. I vehemently denied the accusations but was somehow condemned by a jury of my peers and forbidden from any future scissor usage. In the end though, a good intervention.
My high-pony stump turned into these great Jane Birkin bangs after it grew out though. Now was the time to bring them back! It was a good idea! It was a great idea and I agreed with me! I learned my lesson already about at-home haircuts but was still on a budget since covid took my job. I texted a couple of friends to see if I should slum it salon-wise for bangs. Everyone is depressed now so getting a quick response in the time of covid can be murky at best. Radio silence...so after some googling and smoking a joint I found myself in the chair of my local Supercuts being braver than fuck. Only $25 to reinvent myself...I do love a good deal. It was invigorating, like a game of Russian roulette. I’ve never played, but I figure it’s kind of the same thing.
I had called the salon before and asked them who was the most comfortable with cutting bangs and a dry response of “This is a hair salon, everyone here has cut bangs before.” Should have been my first red flag, but as I stated previously, I had smoked a joint and was feeling pretty optimistic. My stylist was fun and chatty. She noticed a yellow and green beaded mask lanyard I was wearing that a friend made me. “Those are from Santeria! They're very powerful!” I wasn’t sure what she meant since my method of color selection was guided by the practice of willy nilly. She went on and on about how the color combination of the beads protected you from harm and bad energy and how fabulous my hair was looking. Well well, it sounded like my choices were panning out superbly. Maybe I didn’t need friends anymore, I had my witchy beads.
However, she was chatting so much that when she cut an obscenely large chunk out of one side of my bangs she didn’t seem to notice that it was much shorter than we discussed. “How do you like this length?” I gasped internally and like any good people pleaser, told her I loved it just so she wouldn’t cut any higher. It’s so hard to be honest when you don’t like a haircut. I find it easier to break up with someone than to tell a hairstylist they fucked up. It's the one blind spot in my bravery. I thanked her, exited the salon, and immediately saw messages from my friends screaming for me to abort my mission. I facetimed one of them and was greeted with her yelling, “WHY WOULD YOU GO TO SUPERCUTS! You look like a loud girl now!” Loud girl, meaning the term for girls with super short "terf bangs" and super aggressive opinions about everything. You can usually find them arguing with a straight white male outside of an improv show or being triggered by hard kombucha because the "hard" connotates masculine sexual terms. Not the vibe I was going for. The idea of quarantining alone didn't seem so bad now. I guess willy nilly beads can not protect you from willy nilly haircuts. That's what friends are for.
At least I didn’t cut them myself! Maybe the beads did work a little after all.